


dispatches from the beating heart of our government

by shesaysbriefthings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, because Hux is the ginger Malcolm Tucker, politics!au, sweary, the Thick Of It AU that nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesaysbriefthings/pseuds/shesaysbriefthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey is not entirely sure what to expect from her six-month internship at the Department for Social Affairs and Citizenship. Insight, knowledge, a valuable learning experience, maybe. Whatever it is, it's not what she gets. </p>
<p>In which Ben Solo MP is the most anti-social Minister for Social Affairs that ever lived, Phasma and Poe are put-upon policy advisers, Finn is a harassed comms director, Jess is a heroic (and cute) admin assistant, and Hux is. Well. Hux is an enforcer. </p>
<p>The Thick of It/British politics AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dispatches from the beating heart of our government

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Incredibly daft and incredibly sweary. I mean, bad and offensive language in all its various conformations. Pretty well in line with the show itself (several lines are, in fact, lifted directly from it), but nonetheless, read with caution. 
> 
> A short little fic. Self-indulgent!

_September 16th, 2015. A Wednesday._

“So, um. He's not always like this, right?”

Jessika Pava, administrative assistant extraordinaire, shakes her (extremely silky, Rey mentally notes) head and grins. “Only on days ending in ‘y’.”

It is Rey’s third day as what Jess refers to as “the most integral cog in the mechanism of government” - in other words, an unpaid intern. 

Jane Phasma, unruffle-able and poised policy adviser, gently shuts the door behind her as she exits the office of the Minister for Social Affairs and Citizenship, Benjamin Solo MP. 

Finn, an equable but harried media liaison, sighs. “Still on the floor?”

Jane replies with dignity. “The minister is, indeed, still on the floor.”

“Do you think he'd like a Calming Chamomile?” asks Jess. She is a lovely and quick-witted assistant, to be sure, but firmly believes every ill can be cured by judicious application of a hot cup of tea. She's usually correct. 

“Jesus.” mutters Finn. “It wasn't that bad. He's been more embarrassing than that on Newsnight before.”

Jane grins. “And Paxman never forgets. Like an elephant.”

“Sexy Paxy.” murmurs Jess automatically. 

“I've said it before and I’ll say it again, Jess, your taste in men is fucking inexplicable.” snarks Thanisson. 

Jess shrugs. “I admire a man with a firm hand.” She grins. “He's got gravitas.”

Finn scowls. “He can shove his gravitas up his arse. Have you seen the Mail this morning? That cunt Mitaka says Ben’s got a twitch. Says he sweats when he's nervous.”

“Both of those things are true.” says Phasma flatly. 

“That doesn't help me explain to the press why a Cabinet Minister is incapable of explaining away a tiny change in welfare policy without fucking _twitching_ like a fucking ADD schoolkid.”

“You could try and pass it off as a wink.” suggests Phasma. “He could be a winker. It's cheeky. It's charming.”

“At Paxman? He’s an MP, he's not fucking Pava.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. It’s been...a morning.” finishes Finn lamely.

“These things are are sent to try us.” says Jane philosophically, taking a seat. “Do you think the Home Secretary saw it?”

“She did.” says Jess. “She's already left three messages for the Minister this morning.” 

Finn smirks. “Did she say he was grounded?” 

Jess and Rey grin at him. 

“ _Shit_.” Ben’s second policy adviser, Poe, cries from where he is peering over the railing at the end of the office into the entrance hall three floors below. “Fuck me with a rusty spatula.”

“I'm not sure you'd enjoy that as much as you'd think, Poe.” retorts Finn. 

“Ginger Menace of Galway. T-minus three minutes, and counting.”

Finn pauses. “ _Shit_.”

Jess turns to Rey. “Christ, I forgot. You haven't met Brendan Hux yet, have you?” 

Rey shakes her head. She has heard the rumours. Urban legends would perhaps be a more apt term. Hux was the Prime Minister’s director of communications, “The Enforcer”. His job was to try and ensure that the Prime Minister’s MPs didn't make the PM look like a twatwaffle on a daily basis. Since he was, in fact, a complete twatwaffle, this was not an easy task. Rey had heard he'd once made an unsuspecting intern cry after offering him a coffee with milk in it. That DoSAC’s last media liaison had quit after Hux had given him nothing more than a _look_. 

“He can't be that bad, right?” asks Rey, but her tone of voice gives her away. 

Jess gives her a look, and pats her on the shoulders awkwardly. “Just - don't say anything. Or make any sudden movements. In fact, maybe you should hide in the loo. I think he can smell fear.”

A pair of thin, pale hands slam down on to Finn’s desk. Brendan Hux is younger than Rey had imagined. A shock of copper-coloured hair and pale, flinty blue eyes coupled with skin so pale he is practically transparent give him an eerie, gaunt look. He is thin, and looks as though he hasn't slept in days. Possibly ever.

He does not look as though a Calming Chamomile will cure what ails him. 

“Good morning, Brendan.” says Finn in as cheery a voice as he can manage. “I take it you saw Newsnight, then.”

“Where is he?” says Hux in a low, dangerous voice. 

“Er. He's on the floor of his office.” 

“Well, in about thirty seconds he's gonna be out of the window of his fuckin’ office,” retorts Brendan in his broad Irish brogue. 

He stalks towards Ben’s office, shouting at a terrified IT grunt to bring him a coffee on his way. 

“Well.” Says Jess. “At least he didn't notice you. That's how you want to keep it.”

\----------------------

They are enjoying a beer at six that evening in the King’s Arms. It's a twenty minute tube ride from the office, but has the considerable advantage that no one who works there knows who any of them are. They are five - Jess, Finn, Thanisson, Unamo and Rey. Jess had invited Poe and Jane to join them, but they're working still - Ben’s launching a new social mobility scheme at a school tomorrow and they're trying to help him write a speech that will get the point across without accidentally revealing, in Finn’s words, “what an unmitigated bell-end he is.” 

“Which is,” Unamo puts in, “the main difficulty with all of his speeches.”

“Most of the time he doesn't even understand the policy.” laughs Jess. “You should have seen him when we tried to launch an app. It was like watching a newborn foal try to walk.”

“And they're _all_ like this?” asks Rey in bemusement. 

“Oh, they're all out of touch with the public and generally wankers. Most of them aren't quite as bad as Ben, though.”

“It’s no wonder Brendan has such a time with him.” says Thanisson. “Doing his job would drive me to drink. Possibly murder.”

“Careful.” replies Jess. “You know we’re supposed to keep that quiet.” She grins at him. 

Rey has heard that Ben is the youngest cabinet minister in decades. At 30, he can hardly expect to be taken seriously by his peers. It is the private opinion of both Finn and Jess that Ben was only elected MP for two reasons - his mother, the indomitable and brilliant Home Secretary, and the assistance of a then-campaign manager of sorts, one Brendan Hux. 

“So they knew each other already?”

Finn nods. “They went to Oxford together. Hux is a year older, I think. He got Ben elected, Christ knows how, six years ago, the PM realised he was the devil incarnate and snatched him for his own team, and since then he's been terrorising ministers for fun and profit. Especially Ben. Terrorising him is more satisfying, because sometimes he cries.” 

“What a role model.” sighs Jess.

 

_October 15th, 2015. A Thursday._

Rey has been “sourced” by Finn and Jess to accompany the Minister on a fact-finding trip to a Sheffield factory. A sort of meet-and-greet with what Poe described rather crudely as “the common man”. 

“It'll be a good experience for you.” Poe had grinned at her in a way that she had come to realise meant she was about commit to something she would regret. 

“An important part of the job of any senior MP is to interact with and support the members of the public he serves.”

Finn shakes his head. “I thought we were all agreed that Ben shouldn't be interacting with the public. Ben hates the public.” 

“It's not my fault they're all so fucking stupid.” Ben grumbles as he emerges from his office, at last. He had experienced yet another reaming out by Hux the previous evening (yet another second home debacle). 

Finn had received the tail end of Hux’s wrath as he'd left the building for having the gall to try to book Ben an interview with a tame journo from the Express (“Why don't you just book him on to an episode of Loose Women next time, yeah, you fuckin’ waste of oxygen?”), and he knew from long experience that a reaming out from Brendan Hux took a good 24 hours to recover from.

So Rey finds herself on the 7:15 East Midlands service from St Pancras to Sheffield, after much continued grumbling from Ben (“I have a fucking driver, Brendan, why in the ever-loving fuck can't he drive me to Sheffield?”, “This isn't even my constituency, do I _have_ to?”).

They're not even allowed to go first class. 

“It looks bad.” Jane had said. “It sounds silly, but if you truly appreciated what the Daily Mail can do with one train trip in first class, you'd avoid the hassle altogether.”

Rey has scarcely been in the factory thirty minutes before Ben starts to look harangued and begins to scratch his nose in the way that she comes to learn is his emergency “get me the fuck away from these people” signal. 

Finn apologises to the factory manager and two employees they are with, explains that the Minister has a very important lunch with a city councillor that he absolutely must get to.

“Jesus, that couldn't have gone much worse if you'd actually smacked him one, Ben.” says Poe. “Next time, just nod and smile, yeah?”

Ben sulks in the back of the black cab the entire ride to the station. 

“I didn't know they were going to ask me about the benefit reform! How did he get hold of that anyway? Look, I don't see why I should have to answer to anyone who wears t-shirts with fucking slogans on them, OK?” 

“You understand that's literally exactly what you were elected to do?” 

“I understand the concept of an MP, yes, thank you, Poe.” 

“Well, here we are. You didn't want to be a no-hope, no-future backbencher all set to be put out to fucking pasture by the time you're forty, so. You're a Cabinet Minister now and I'm afraid this comes with the territory.” 

Ben scowls. “I wasn't exactly gunning for DoSAC.”

“Yeah, well, they weren't exactly gunning for you either.” 

“Next time, I want transport minister. No one talks down to transport.”

 

_December 18th, 2015. A Friday._

“Well, isn't this a merry fucking occasion.”

“Brendan. Lovely to see you, as always. Didn't realise you'd be gracing us with your presence.”

Hux folds his arms, glares at Poe. “The PM wanted me here. Crisis management.”

“He hasn't killed anyone. Yet.”

“He's about to announce the biggest tax credit cut in twenty years. Someone needs to make sure he doesn't get beaten up for his lunch money.”

“Yeah, I was going to ask about that. A school assembly hall? The most appropriate place for this announcement?”

“‘Tis the season. Joy, glad tidings, and we’re cutting your child tax credits by 20%. I'm gonna go find his majesty backstage, make sure he hasn't offed himself.”

Poe nods Hux goodbye. 

Rey, too, is intrigued by the choice of a school, but she hasn't been in a primary school assembly hall since she was ten years old performing in the North Nibley CoE Primary’s production of A Christmas Carol. She was a street urchin. And a damn fine one, though she says so herself. 

She creeps backstage to see the doings for herself. She is pleased to see that the department has sprung for a teleprompter for the occasion. Ben hates printed notes. He tends to lose his place and gets flustered. The AV guys are running around like headless chickens but it is quiet in the wing as Ben waits for the hall to fill with press.

Rey watches, unobserved, from behind the sound box as Brendan Hux approaches, narrowing his eyes at Ben.

“Think you can get through this one without crying or inadvertently authorising any non-treasury sanctioned spending?”

“Isn't that why _you're_ here?” snarks Ben, low.

“Not entirely.” grins Brendan. “Break a leg, won't you.”

Rey must have been overworked. Not enough sleep. Because she'd swear she just saw Brendan Hux squeeze Ben Solo’s arse. 

\--------------------

“Nope, it would not surprise me one single bit if they were shagging.” says Jess nonchalantly. “All that pent up aggression and rage has to go somewhere, right?”

“I can't imagine it.” admits Unamo. 

“And I'm trying very hard not to.” replies Finn.

“I don't know.” considers Jess. “I think it'd be kinda hot. In an uptight, extremely efficient, angry sort of way.”

“Who do you think tops?” asks Thanisson. 

“Definitely Brendan.” replies Jess immediately. “I can't see him bending over for the PM himself, let alone _Ben_.”

“I don't know.” Rey puts in. “Sometimes it's the ones you'd least expect.” She grins at Jess, who goes unexpectedly pink. “I think it's really sweet, actually. I mean, that they love each other. It's nice.”

Finn splutters on his Carlsberg and Unamo howls with laughter. 

“ _Love_? Are we sure Brendan knows what that even means?”

“I think he understands it as a concept.” says Jess. “I just don't think he's ever been inclined to attempt to put it into practice.”

Thanisson clears his throat. “As profitable as these speculations might prove to be, guys and girls, we need to make tracks. The Mail’s eating an early dinner, two tables down. Your two o’clock.”

Rey glances over and recognises Dopheld Mitaka and old Tarkin. Mail journalists are like dogs with bones, Rey has come to learn. Their best hope is to try and sneak out the back before they're spotted. 

\-----------

_January 26th, 2016. A Tuesday._

“Well, this is a disaster. No, more than a disaster. I'm not sure there's a word in the English language that covers this.”

Finn’s head is in his hands. He's been up half the night speaking to night shift press desks, and Red Bull is no longer adequate. 

A staffer at DoSAC has accidentally left a flash drive with 7,000 migrant records, including national insurance information and personal details, on a circle line train. 

The staffer has been dealt with swiftly and without fuss, but the media are demanding a statement from Ben at the very least. Several opposition MPs are calling for his resignation, and others for an inquiry into inter-governmental security procedures. 

“Does Brendan know yet?”

“Is there anything he doesn't?” groans Finn. “He's coming by to see Ben this afternoon. As is the Home Secretary.”

“James is speaking to that bird from the Independent this morning, isn't he?”

Poe snorts. “James is about as much use as a marzipan dildo, so we can write that one off.”

“Dan at Work and Pensions is asking if the PM can make a statement.”

Jane shakes her head. “The PM’ll be in Santorini for the two more days, blinding innocent Greeks with the sight of his pasty, naked torso.”

“Cheers, Jane, I didn't want to finish this yoghurt anyway.” grumbles Poe. 

“Well, he wouldn't come home early from a holiday when that idiot at the foreign office got himself taken hostage, he's not gonna come back for this.” 

“Is Ben going to make a statement, then?”

“He won't like it. But he'll probably have to.”

\--------

Watching senior civil servants run around in a coffee and crisis-induced flap all day is really comparable to no other work-based experience, Rey thinks. 

Poe and Jane are scrambling to write a speech that will appease the angry public while also, sort of, exculpating Ben himself from any actual blame.

Finn has spent all day on the phone assuring journalists, that, no, there's no crisis at DoSAC, no crisis at pensions, and no, the Minister has no intention of resigning. 

Unamo and Thanisson are eating pork scratchings at their shared desk, arbitrarily flicking between Sky and BBC News 24, when an unexpected breaking story appears. And an unexpected face. 

“Fucking hell. Look at this. Poe, Jane!” 

They poke their head around the door into the breakout area.

“Brendan’s on fucking News 24. He's making a statement outside Westminster.”

“Not possible. Brendan doesn't do media interviews.” says Ben, bewildered. 

“Well he bloody well is doing.”

\----------

The pub is heaving at lunchtime. Still, they collectively agreed that the morning had earned them a beer lunch, and they'd all piled out, even Poe and Jane, into the local and into seven full, and exceptionally delicious pints of lager. 

Only Ben had remained behind. After Brendan Hux had accepted responsibility for the data leak, insisting that the wretched staffer had been carrying a minimally encrypted flash drive on public transport under his orders, not Ben’s, Ben had stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him and had spent the rest of the morning making what appeared to be a series of increasingly angry phone calls. 

“The PM doesn't want to lose Ben.” explains Poe. “He's the only MP we've got that's even close to the age of the people we need to vote for us in the next general. Despite his obvious incompetence, people like him. I bet the PM told Brendan to fall on his sword.”

“Bet he loved that.” muttered Jess. 

Jane shrugs. “It's part of the job.” 

By the time they get back Ben is firmly ensconced in his office, three empty coffee cups and a Domino's box on his desk. He does not emerge. 

Brendan finally appears, looking harassed and exhausted, at four o’clock. He doesn't speak to any of them, just goes straight into Ben’s office and slams the door behind him.

Needless to say, within 30 seconds every DoSAC staffer is crowded around Finn’s desk, from which they can all see into Ben’s office through the glass. 

Although they cannot make out the actual words, recriminations are clearly exchanged. 

Ben gets up and rounds on Hux, and for a brief, horrifying second Finn thinks Ben is actually going to hit him.

What happens instead is arguably worse. 

“Fuck me up the Euro Tunnel.” says Poe. “Are they fucking _kissing_?”

They are. Surprisingly gently. Ben has taken Brendan’s face in his large hands and is softly pressing their lips together. 

“I _told_ you!” exclaims Rey, radiating smug satisfaction. “I told you they were in love!”

Finn shudders. “That is - I feel sick.”

“Not because they're both guys, I certainly hope.” says Jess dangerously, narrowing her eyes. 

“Jesus - no - just. It's _Brendan_. I didn't even think he had genitalia. Oh, and if I ever use the words ‘Brendan’ and ‘genitalia’ in the same sentence ever again, please feel free to kill me. Slowly.”

Jess smiles. “You were right, Rey. It actually is kind of sweet.”

Unamo snickers. “If they get married, the Home Secretary will be his mother-in-law. Can you imagine the family dinners?”

“A right regular political dynasty.”

Jess shudders. “God help us all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
